


this bag of stones

by Nokomis



Category: Justified, Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 17:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nokomis/pseuds/Nokomis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raylan finds Boyd in a clubhouse in Charming, CA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this bag of stones

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lovely Rainpuddle13! Spoilers through season four of Justified and season five of Sons of Anarchy.

“A favor in return for a favor for a friend of a friend,” Boyd explains, as though that means anything at all.

Raylan sighs and looks around. The clubhouse, as the local sheriff called it, has the feel of Boyd’s bar – the smell of old spilled beer and stale tobacco with the faint scent of gun oil – and Raylan’s enough his father’s son that he knows a front for an organization when he sees it.

“Boyd, you have to understand that I’m a mite aggrieved,” Raylan drawls. “My duties as a federal marshal do not solely revolve around your every action, and yet, here I am, on my first day back, chasing you across the country to some hole in the wall that might as well be in Kentucky. At least you should have had the decency to meet up with these fellas on the beach or something, to justify the trip.”

“Well see, Raylan, I might’ve thought you were still suspended, and that I’d get to see that lovely lady marshal for once,” Boyd replies, leaning casually against the bar.

The bikers are all seconds away from pulling; Raylan knows the feeling. So he waves at them a little and says, “Boys, unless you’ve got an outstanding warrant that you’re fixin’ to be dumb and tell me about, I ain’t got no intention of taking any of you in, but if any of you draw on me, well. I’ll be calling for the county morgue.”

“Really, Raylan, you should ease up on killin’ folks,” Boyd offers helpfully. “I’d think killin’ off half of Tonin’s higher-ups would have satisfied your bloodlust.”

This makes the bikers start; the one in charge, the young blond, is watching Raylan with an interest that makes him wary.

“Boyd, just come with me,” Raylan sighs, ready to be done with the song and dance. 

“Now, now, see here, Raylan,” Boyd says in his wheelin’ and dealin’ voice, and Raylan, knowing from experience that it’s easier to just hear him out, leans against the pool table, crossing his ankles and gestures for Boyd to continue. “I told these fine gentlemen here that I had a friend who could be of assistance to them, and you wouldn’t want to make me a liar, now would you?”

“If you’re implying that I’m this friend, then you’ve already made a liar of yourself, because I’m not your friend, Boyd, and I’m _especially_ not your friend when I’m chasin’ you across state lines.”

“Crowder,” the blond says, stepping forward. The patch on his vest says he’s president, and Raylan got enough of a briefing from the sheriff to know that this club isn’t benign. “You forgot to mention your friend was a cop.”

“He’s a man of the law, yes, but not a cop,” Boyd says. He doesn’t look at all perturbed, despite the fact that the bikers are glaring at him. “May I present to you Deputy U.S. Marshal Raylan Givens.” He gives a grand little gesture towards Raylan. Raylan tips his hat at the bikers. “Raylan, old buddy, these boys have run into a spot of trouble with a gentleman who is formerly of your profession, and I thought you might want to be apprised of a former man of the law gone rogue. Catch him and they might give you another shiny promotion.”

“The last thing I need is you helping me do my job,” Raylan says. “They can report this man, if he’s truly trouble.”

“Mr. Teller here would, of course, being a law-abiding citizen,” Boyd began, and out of the corner of his eye Raylan saw a few of the bikers barely hold in snorts. “But you see, his wife’s the trouble. She’s been falsely accused of murder, and this former deputy is seeking some vigilante justice.”

Teller looks as though he wants to silence Boyd and says, somewhat sharply, “I just want to keep Tara safe.”

“A damsel in distress, Raylan, that’s your specialty, isn’t it?” Boyd’s wearing his shit-eating grin, and Raylan hates that they know each other so well. 

He turns to Teller and says, “This man. Who is he?”

“Retired marshal. Lee Toric. He…” Teller looks like he doesn’t want to say the next bit, but a man beside him, one with the scar of a Glasgow smile, steps up.

“He thinks Tara’s responsible for his sister’s death,” he says. He hears Teller say something quietly to him, calls him Chibs.

“Is she?” Raylan asks. Teller takes a step forward, like he’s going to start something, but Chibs reaches out and stops him. 

“The man who killed her is on death row,” Teller bites out.

There’s a lot he’s not saying, but as far as Raylan can tell he’s not actually lying. “As it happens, I’ve actually met Lee Toric.”

“Shocking, that,” Boyd cuts in, giving Raylan a sly look.

“Did some training with him at Glynco,” Raylan continues, trying his best to ignore Boyd. “Single-minded sort of fellow. Tenacious.”

“That would be the guy,” mutters one of the bikers.

Raylan looks at the group, knows perfectly well what these sort of men are capable of, especially given their leader’s obvious passion. “I’ll look into it. See if I can find him,” he says. He raises an eyebrow at Boyd. “Now that you’ve gotten what you want, are you going to come easy, or do I get to shoot you again?”

“He’s always like this,” he hears Boyd say with a sharp grin to the Sons as Raylan hauls him out to his rental.


End file.
